


Separate ways.

by BallisticRoo



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Walkers (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BallisticRoo/pseuds/BallisticRoo
Summary: Following a violent and unexpected attack, the Savior's have scattered. Re-grouping with loyal followers and exacting revenge is never far from Negan's thoughts. He encounters a stranger ( You ) who helps him rediscover who he really is.





	1. In the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Just a story idea I had a while ago that I had to get out. This is my first fic and first time writing in this type of narrative! I wanted to explore what could happen to a temporarily broken Negan.. I write when I can and I'm just out to have fun, feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I have an end in sight but I don't know how many chapters it will take to get there!
> 
> Negan appears at the end of chapter 2..

Icy branches whip at your face while you race through the forest as fast as your exhausted legs will take you. The early morning  
air is freezing and the grazes on your cheeks sting all the more for it.

How long have you been running?

Time doesn’t seem to matter anymore. As you take a clumsy leap over a fallen branch, you cast your mind back to your last real conversation with a living human, both of you trying to work out what time of year it might be. It’s so cold right now and the days are short, you allow yourself a wry smile despite the adrenaline coursing through you. You are literally running for your life and you’re wondering if it’s Christmas yet.  
The only thing that matters anymore is survival. Time is measured by how many days you have managed to stay alive, being wealthy means having enough food. The pack on your back bounces freely with your strides, alarmingly light and emphasising how little wealth you currently have.  
A sudden sharp pain in your side forces you to slow a little and you press a hand to your ribs in an attempt to ease the discomfort. What was it Jon used to say?  
‘Never go for a run on an empty stomach, Doc’  
Jon, who had not run quickly enough, and was now dead.  
Your breath is coming in deep heavy gasps, the cold air burning your lungs and you ease down to slow jog, listening hard for any signs of your pursuers.  
The forest seems still, the sound of your own pounding heart and ragged breathing drowning out anything else. You had caught them off guard when you made a break for it and had got a good head start, you must have outrun them by now.  
You stop abruptly, rest your hands on your knees and lean forward, trying to calm everything down. With your eyes closed you mentally take stock. This is the second day you have been away from your new found home and travelling companion. You had a rough idea of where you needed to go as you took what could be spared from your pooled meagre possessions. You thought you’d be gone a day, your new partner had said two at least, and had snorted weakly with amusement when you made promises to return.  
‘We’ll see..’ he had murmured, already on the edge of consciousness.  
Tracking and navigation had never been your strong point, but surely you should have seen something by now?  
Breathing more calmly now you straighten slowly and your depleted body complains about its mistreatment. The sweat covering your too thin frame causes your shirt to cling to your skin and you feel a sudden chill as the breeze wraps around you. Pulling the battered leather jacket protectively around your ribs, you turn your head over your shoulder and listen, holding your breath, moving only your eyes as you check again for any movement or signs of pursuit. You force yourself to count slowly to 20, listening hard. 

Nothing.

Exhaling a long breath of relief you step forward, turn your head and walk straight into the point of a crossbow bolt aimed at your head. The puncture above your eye bleeds immediately.

“Shit!” 

You leap backwards, catch your heel on a gnarled exposed root and crash to the ground landing unceremoniously on your ass. You can feel the blood, warm and tickling, weaving a thin path down your face from above your left eyebrow. You can feel the sharp stones, sore on your palms from where your hands slapped the cold hard ground.  
You can feel everything, amplified and raw.  
Fear, disappointment, anger. The exhaustion in your body suddenly very real and disabling.  
Your heart’s pounding again and your breathing quickens as the stranger with the crossbow leans over you, takes your knife from its sheath at your hip and straightens again. The bow and his eyes never leave your face. You don’t even bother fighting to take it back right now, you know you are too drained and even if you did manage another quick escape, you wouldn’t get far. Instead, you settle for glaring at this stranger and take in what you can about him, hoping to try something later to get away again. His breathing is heavy, but he’s not as worn out as you. He looks reasonably healthy, you notice a toned body used to regular meals and enough to drink. You decide you hate him for this reason alone and you continue to stare at him as you weigh each other up. He’s tall, with dark hair just brushing his shoulders. He was wearing what might have been a shirt once, but the arms had been ripped off, exposing well muscled arms clearly used to manual labour. He’s holding that crossbow like a shotgun, still aimed at your face. “Why’d you run.” He says simply, not asking a question, just demanding to know.  
He’s from the South, somewhere.  
You fall back onto your elbows and tilt your head back, taking in the milky winter sky through skinny trees and exhale again, more of a sigh this time. Shit, but your ass hurts.  
The ground crunches as the stranger steps forward.  
“Why’d you run” he says once more, but harder this time.  
You raise your head and glare at him again down the shaft of the bolt.  
“You’ve got guns. And knives. And a madman with a crossbow,” You say finally  
“There must be a dozen of you and only one of me” You sit up gingerly, the gravel rasping under your feet as you try to find a spot that doesn’t pain your ass any more than necessary. Wiping a hand over your face you suddenly feel overwhelmingly tired.  
“You’d run too I think”  
You look at the hand you’ve just rubbed your face with and stare blankly at the blood drying on your fingers. That cut on your eyebrow from the bolt, it’s not deep but it will probably scar. There’s no mirrors out here anyway.  
The stranger snorts a sharp laugh devoid of any humour.  
“I don’t run from nothin’ girl”  
“So why bother to come after me, I’m hardly a threat. I’ve got barely any food left, hardly any water. The only weapon I’ve got left is that,” You gesture at the knife lying at the stranger’s feet. The whole thing is about as long as your forearm and has an overly elaborate hilt worked with complicated smooth metalwork knots and coloured glass. You’d found it on the floor of an abandoned souvenir type store while on a scavenging run a long time ago. It was never meant to be a weapon, but you’d honed an edge to it with a whetstone and for a while it had been an effective form of defence. But the whetstone was long since gone and the blade had lost its edge. Now it was just something pretty to look at and provide a bit of comfort when it was sheathed at your side. The stranger’s eyes never leave your face as he moves the knife away from you a little further with his foot.  
“I wanna know what you’re runnin from” he says  
“Who’s chasin’ you. And where’d ya get that jacket. It sure as hell ain’t yours”  
He’s right of course. You realise you must be a comical figure in a leather jacket that’s far too big for you and cut for a man. The sleeves hang over your wrists and the whole thing hangs heavy on your shoulders. It stinks too. Of death.  
“Well genius,” you begin as if you’re about to explain something simple to a child.  
“I’m running from you. I’m lost in the woods and I come across a band of merry men armed to the teeth. I don’t get the opportunity to explain where I’m going or what I’m doing because the wild eyed one with the beard tackles me to the floor and knocks me out cold” You pause here and point to a bruise forming on your cheek.  
“So when I wake up I decide I’m not staying to find out what you’re planning on doing with me, and I run.”  
“And the jacket? Where’d you get it.”  
“I found it.”  
“Where”  
“I took it from a guy who looked like he wasn’t gonna need it anymore.” You shrug and look down at the scuffed leather, picking idly at one of the zippers.  
“It’s an extra layer and I thought the leather might protect me fr…”  
“What did he look like”  
You look up and see the stranger has silently moved closer, the bow is now inches from your face. You swallow.  
“You don’t have to point that thing at me you know I’m in no state to go anywhere”  
“What did the guy look like”  
“I couldn’t tell, he’d turned already. I put my knife in his head and took the jacket.”  
“I’ll only ask once more girl,” He moves closer crouches down and rests the point of the bolt under your jaw. To your disappointment, part of you wants him to pull the trigger.  
“What. Did. He. Look. Like”  
“Tall.” You whisper, talking causes the bolt to rub under your chin.  
“He was pretty tall. He might have had dark hair once, a bit of a beard maybe. He had a red scarf too. I was going to take that but it was covered in..” You trail off as the stranger backs away from you, stands slowly then lowers the bow.  
“Definitely dead then, huh?”  
“Yeah.” You meet his gaze  
“Definitely. Why? You knew him?”  
The stranger just looks at you, seeming to be mulling over this bit of information. “Nah.” he says, finally. You realise you’re starting to shiver and the stranger offers you his hand to pull you up. You stare at him for a moment, then try to stand yourself.  
“I’m fine.”  
“You’re not”  
“No I’m not, but I don’t want your help”  
He shrugs and lets his hand drop  
“Suit yourself” Pain erupts in your back and legs as you awkwardly stand and your blood rushes back to your limbs. You double over and rub your legs, so tired and hungry not caring any more that this stranger could kill you while your head is down. You take a few deep breaths and see your knife from out the corner of your eye. You are just trying to work out if you could grab it and run when the stranger picks it up and holds it out to you, hilt pointing your way.  
You straighten slowly watching his face and reach out for the knife. Your hand closes around the hilt and you attempt to pull it away from him but his grip tightens on the dull blade, denying you.  
“No funny stuff.” He drawls.  
“You don’t yell, you don’t scream, you don’t try to run”  
“I’m not going back with you,”  
“No you’re not. But you’re not gonna make it where you’re goin on your own either. Not like that. You’re half dead.”  
“You don’t know where I’m going” You snarl, getting angry now you pull hard on the hilt but the stranger simply pulls back, like you’re two children squabbling over a toy.  
“I think you’re goin’ somewhere you really wanna be,” he says with a small smile.  
“Or, you’re goin some place where there’s somethin you want. And seein as you got nothin on you, you ain’t come from somewhere loaded with stuff,”  
Your eyes burn hatred into this arrogant asshole and you wish you were strong enough to shove the knife forwards into his belly. Even that blunt, it would still do some damage.  
“So, I’ll give you some food and your knife back and you can show me what’s so damn special it’s got you trailin through the woods runnin on empty”  
“And if I don’t?”  
“You’re on your own and you’ll be dead within a day. We’re miles from anythin and without food…” He trails off knowing the promise of something to eat has got your attention. Suddenly what he just said hits you.  
“Miles from anywhere?” You ask  
“Yep. We been out scoutin for days. The nearest road gotta be half a day’s hike.”  
“Won’t your merry men be wondering where you are..”  
“Nah. I can take care of myself. And I can find my way back too. If I got somethin good to take back with me well..” He releases your knife and spreads his hands wide in an all innocent gesture.  
“You get to eat, my people get a cut of whatever’s good where we’re goin, everyone wins.”  
“There is no we”  
“Ya hungry?” He reaches round to his own back pack, shrugs it to the ground and lifts the pocket. You watch, a little transfixed as he pulls out a rolled up length of cloth then holds out what looks like cooked rabbit to you in his palm. You are so hungry you want to cry.  
“Sure looks like there’s a ‘we’ to me. Go on.”  
He gestures the cloth towards you and you drop the knife and snatch the meat from him. He looks on in amusement as you stuff the rabbit into your mouth.  
“Go easy sister, you’ll just throw it all back up again” He waits until you’ve finished before he speaks again.  
“Now it’s your turn. Where we goin.”  
“Medicine” You say around a mouthful of rabbit, then lick the last of the juices from your fingers. The stranger raises his eyebrows.  
“I need medicine and some medical supplies. The guy I’ve left behind, he’s hurt and now he’s got an infection and he’s sick,” You look at the stranger a little shamefaced  
“It was my fault. I just want to patch him up. When I was last on a road around here I thought I saw a building, maybe like a prison or some secure facility,” You leave it hanging as a question hoping the stranger might confirm this to you. He says nothing, just continues to watch.  
“Anyway” You say with a sigh  
“It didn’t look too disturbed, I was hoping it might have some supplies left in it’s medical unit especially if people have been in there not knowing what they were looking at”  
“And you would know what you’re looking at?”  
You nod, sucking the last finger and you quietly realise you do have the upper hand here, even if it’s not physically right now.  
“It’s your lucky day stranger, I’m a doctor.”  
You roll your eyes and wipe your fingers on your jeans.  
“Was a doctor. Orthopaedic surgeon actually. But I still know my way around a pharmaceutical store. I know what will kill you,” you say cheerfully and with a bright smile.  
“And what won’t.” The stranger is still for a moment, watching you and seems to be thinking over what you just said when he steps forward and you, automatically, step back. He swings his crossbow over his shoulder on its strap and offers you his outstretched hand.  
“I’m Daryl”  
You hesitantly take it and his fingers tighten around your hand. How long has it been since someone touched you, without wanting to kill you? Despite this redneck hunting you with his crossbow, the relief of feeling warm human contact is almost too much for your overloaded senses and you feel a tug of..something.. in the pit of your stomach. You still don’t like his arrogance and the fact you’ve been so easily persuaded with food to go with him annoys you intensely.  
“You got a name?” He says amused at your silence. You remove your hand and pick up your knife, never taking your eyes from his face. You notice that he’s studying you just as closely.  
“Does it matter?” you sigh, as you push the knife back into its sheath.  
“No. I just wondered what I should yell at you when the walkers come looking for us..”  
“Walkers?” You frown.  
“Yeah. Come on Doc. We better get going, you were runnin in completely the wrong direction.” He shoulders his bag and strides past you, not bothering to check whether you’re following.


	2. Rehab.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Daryl have found your building..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one may ramble a bit, but I'm having fun..! Negan's appearance is postponed a little, but it'll be worth it in the end ;)

The big imposing building looms out of the darkness above you, an enormous black stain against an inky blue starlit night sky. There is no moon tonight and the frost sparkling on the overgrown grass lends a dreamy, almost mystical feel to the huge old house. At any other time, in another life, it would have been a stunning sight. 

Daryl is standing next to you, crossbow and bag slung across his back, looking up at the building and thinking.

Over the course of the day your hostilities towards him had relaxed a little and while you hadn’t talked much, the long silences between you had not been uncomfortable. He seemed to know where he was going, and when you had asked him how he seemed so sure he had just shrugged, like he seems to do. He said he thought he had seen it before too and since his sense of direction was better than yours, you’d be going his way. You had just smiled and flipped him the bird. 

Trudging silently after Daryl had given you time to think. You were unafraid, but uneasy about this bargain. You didn’t even know if there would be a medical unit in this building and even if there was, would there be anything useful left? You had known Daryl for less than a day, he had not threatened you again but he seemed surly and frighteningly quick with that crossbow. How was he going to react if there was nothing at all in that building? His reaction when you had explained away the leather jacket had made you wary. The previous owner certainly did not need it at the time, but the previous owner was also not dead. Not yet anyway. You were not sure why you had lied to Daryl about the guy in the jacket, but for whatever reason he’d seemed to relax a little when you’d told him he was dead. He might well be by now anyway.  
The cut above your eyebrow had given you headache and you maintained a miserable glare at the angel wings emblazoned on the back of Daryl’s vest for the rest of the morning.

When you had walked passed a gateway that led to an old cellphone tower your heart had sunk.  
You had seen the same tower in the distance from the tiny fishing hut you and your dead man had found two days ago. You really had wandered miles in the wrong direction. Huffing crossly to yourself, you’d grudgingly arrived at the conclusion that Daryl had in fact saved your life.

Later on that afternoon, as the grand and high fenced building had come into view he had flashed you a rare but triumphant smile. Pointedly ignoring his smug face, you had walked past him towards a faded wooden sign leaning drunkenly by the side of the road. Apparently not a prison or secure unit at all, you and Daryl had in fact found a rehabilitation centre, one of those expensive exclusive ones. Daryl had looked at the sign, looked at you, then insisted you both continue your journey out of site in the trees.  
“Place like this?” He’d said in a low voice as he half dragged you to the hedges beside the road.  
“I’ll bet we’re not the only ones who know it’s here.”  
The road leading up to the gates was cracked, cris-crossed with grass forcing its way up to daylight and obviously undisturbed. Someone had cut through the wire fence at some point, but the weeds scrambling up and through the crude hole revealed that had been some time ago.  
“Is this really necessary?” You had sighed as you settled uncomfortably into a spiky hollow beneath a wildly out of control hedge.  
Daryl had said nothing, placed his bag and bow on the ground next to him and turned to face the building. 

The evening gave way into a frosty darkness and nobody had showed up. You were becoming increasingly frustrated with Daryl’s caution and finally, you had simply got up and walked towards the house, ignoring his hissed protests behind you.

You rub your arms and suppress a shiver trying to work its way through your body. If it was cold this morning, it was twice as cold now.  
“We need to get inside you know,” You said in a low voice, though with your breath billowing great clouds around your head every time you spoke, you feel sure you’d have been spotted by now anyway.  
“It’s getting too cold to be this exposed”  
“Mmhmm” Daryl continues to stare up at the building and makes a move towards the double fronted facade.  
“Let’s try the door, might as well make things easy”  
His strides crunch against the frozen ground and you follow, the uneasy nagging thought returning that this could have been for nothing and you’d be stuck with an angry bow wielding redneck, at least until the morning.

Daryl stops at the double doors, draws his knife and pounds loudly on the warped wood with the hilt.  
Alarm surges through your body and you spread your hands out wide in front of you in a ‘What the Hell are you doing?!’ gesture.  
He tilts his head and listens, then pushes open one of the doors a little, peering inside.  
“Don’t think there’s anyone home,” he says pushing the door wide open with his shoulder, bow raised and ready.  
“Don’t think there’s anythin left either” He lowers the bow again and turns to look at you over his shoulder. Even in the near pitch darkness you can see his eyes asking you the question.  
‘What happens now?’  
“Well even if there’s not we can shelter in there tonight and part company tomorrow” You retort, then feel a little surprise at your own determination to get going alone again.  
Daryl turns back and steps just inside the door, takes a quick look up and down the corridor and walks in, you follow.  
“If that’s what you want”

The air is icy and smells old. Discarded food wrappers litter the floor and with every step you kick up a cloud of dust and decomposing paper. Light fittings hang dejectedly from the ceiling and the wind rattles freely through broken windows. So much for shelter. It looks like nobody has been here for years. Daryl stops, pulls his backpack round to the floor and goes digging through it. You watch for a second then continue a slow walk down the corridor looking for something that might point the way to a pharmacy, or supply store.  
A sudden thin beam of light from behind you makes you physically jump. You spin round and Daryl is catching up to you shouldering his bag again and holding a small flashlight between his teeth.  
“Here” He says taking it from his mouth  
He hands you the light and keeps walking past you.  
“Thanks” You mutter and flash it around trying to ignore the clouds of dust caught in the beam. 

A set of double doors at the end of the corridor catch your eye. Daryl has walked up the first flight of stairs to your right and you mentally keep tabs on him as you stride past the stairwell and head for the doors.  
You rub away a lifetime’s worth of dust and grime from a plate beneath the window and smile to yourself as you read the words, ‘E Ward’.  
“It’s a ward” You call to Daryl  
“There should be something here”  
“Yeah..” Daryl says silently appearing behind you  
“As long as nobody beat you to it. There’s nothin upstairs.”  
You shoulder the door open and the room opens out into a wide space that might have been some kind of infirmary once. Long curtains hang threadbare and crooked from rails barely holding on to the ceiling. You pan the light around slowly and take in the upturned beds, chairs on their backs and ransacked patient cabinets with doors flung open. More paperwork covers the floor and monitors lie face down and useless, wires trailing.  
“They left in a hurry, whoever they were” Daryl murmurs close by you,  
“Look” he points over to your left near the nurses station and you see a long snaking row of bullet holes scarring the wall. You frown, moving the torch around and notice the signs of struggle and violence for the first time. Bullet holes are everywhere, there was a fire at some point scorching a portion of the floor and wall and dark stains on the floor and blankets reveal where the dead had been. There is no specialist equipment in here, just basic observation monitors, a sluice room, bathroom and the office behind the nurses station.

The nurses station.

You step forward and head for the office weaving around the upturned furniture and shredded blankets. Daryl follows as you push aside a desk that looks like it was moved to form a crude barricade around the office behind.  
“Whoa wait” He says suddenly  
“There could be walkers in there now if they were trying to keep something out then” You pause and listen looking at him questioningly. He just stares back at you not really seeing you just listening hard for movement.  
“There’s nothing” You whisper, frustrated.  
“I just want to see if the drug trolley is in there” You turn, with your knife in your hand and push through the door. The beam from the flashlight catches two dead on the floor, barely anything but bones and the thinnest covering of skin and flimsy clothing. Daryl bumps into your back as you stand in the darkness watching for any signs of movement from the one that still has an intact head. He steps around you past the corpse and nudges it with his foot, crossbow aimed at its head, but the dead man doesn’t move. He lowers his bow and looks up at you, with another shrug.  
“Don’t think he’ll bother you. What are we looking for?”  
“That”  
You point at the cabinet on wheels discarded on its side in the corner.  
“There won’t be much in there, but it could be a start.” You say as you step over the dead men and haul the cabinet the right way up. Daryl pulls his knife out, forces the blade between the lock and the door and twists. The wood is perished and tired and gives way immediately.  
Nobody has been in here yet. Daryl looks over your shoulder and then offers you a genuine smile. You smile back, both relieved and pleased you were right.

The rows of nondescript small white boxes, bottles and syringes are untouched. You hold the flashlight between your teeth and get to work, your fingers picking up and flipping over boxes until you have them roughly sorted. Painkillers, antidepressants, two reliever inhalers, some insulin. No antibiotics.  
“Dammit”  
Daryl raises his eyebrows at you  
“What this is good stuff right?”  
“Yeah, I need antibiotics though. Well,” you say around the flashlight between your teeth. You remove it and rest your arms over the cabinet with a box in each hand holding the light like a cigarette.  
“The guy in the hut needs antibiotics. And dressings.”  
Daryl picks up some boxes and takes his bag from his back,  
“We’ll take this and look around some more. Bound to be more here right?”  
“Yeah, somewhere” You take the rest of the boxes and reach round for your own bag. As you step back to place your bag on the floor your heel stands on something soft and you turn in time to hear the gurgle of the dead man inches from your leg having silently hauled himself across the floor towards you. Deep, empty sockets stare up at you as he reaches out with a hand that is little more than bone and looped, hanging skin. You have the other hand trapped under your foot and before you have time to reach for your knife Daryl has shoved his own through the soft skull. The head slumps to the ground with a dull knock.  
You raise your eyes to Daryl, who is busy using the dead man’s own shredded shirt to clean his knife.  
“Thanks,” You begin.  
Daryl meets your eyes but just cuts you off with a small nod and half a smile.


	3. The Dead Man's Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You could come back with me you know.."  
> Daryl makes you an offer. You make a big decision.

The door had taken some persuasion to give up, Daryl had found a fireman’s axe in the end and smashed the handle and lock to bits. You had both waited in silence after the lock had clattered to the ground, the ring had carried far in the quiet of the night. Nothing had come looking for the source of the sound however, living or dead.  
You stand at the door hardly daring to step inside in case you break some kind of spell. 

“What” Daryl says gruffly from behind you  
“This is it” You say  
“I’m just a bit suspicious that our luck has been this good.”  
Daryl snorts and pushes past you into the room  
“Come on Doc let’s get what we need and find somewhere to sleep. We can always come back, get some more.”  
“Well you can,” You walk into the surprisingly clean room and scan the rows of cupboards and drawers. There’s a bit of everything here.  
“I’m heading back to the hut”  
“You’ll get lost” Daryl murmurs half to himself as he wanders, idly picking up a random bottle.  
“No, I won’t.” You counter firmly as you open a cupboard and look over the contents.  
“I know where I am now” 

You stick the flashlight between your teeth and rummage through the rows of small boxes. More painkillers, blood thinners, aspirin..You need the heavy stuff. Major antibiotics, an IV drip if possible, hefty painkillers, sutures, dressings..you pause a moment. If Daryl sees you putting those things into your bag he’s going to ask some serious questions.

“You’re going to need another bag or two” you say around the flashlight “There’s too much for our bags alone.” You turn to make sure he heard you and Daryl fixes you with his standard scowl still holding the saline solution bottle.  
“What?” You take the light from your mouth  
He sighs and thumps the bottle back down on the worktop.  
“I’ll go see what I can find” He strides out past you back into the dark corridor. 

With Daryl gone, you take your own bag, empty the contents on the floor - one empty water bottle, some fishing line and an old zippo lighter - and get to work searching for what you need. 

Some time later your watch tells you you’ve spent twenty minutes filling your bag. You managed to find a store of IV equipment with lines and canulars and taken three of everything. You have bags of saline, intravenous antibiotics and painkillers, more dressings than you’ll probably need and everything required for stitches. You even found a box of gloves. 

While sorting through the cabinets you had started to feel a pang of sadness for the life you used to have. As a surgeon you spent little time in treatment rooms sorting medication, but being back in your comfort zone, even in this state, had given you a purpose again. You realised that getting back to this injured guy and keeping him alive was more than just making up for what you had done to him, it was about keeping you alive too. You had a reason now.

The sound of plastic scraping the door behind you announces Daryl’s return and you turn to see him standing in the doorway with two huge empty holdalls under his arm. He has dark liquid spattered up his right arm to his neck and jaw. You raise your eyebrows.

“Have we got company?”  
“No, he won’t be bothering us” He steps forward and hands you a bag  
“Best I could do. They look pretty big though”  
You open yours out and head back to the cabinets with the torch between your teeth again.  
“You got a doctor, or a medically trained person in your community?”  
Daryl follows behind and takes the open bag from you holding it open as you throw bandages and dressings in.  
“Not anymore” Daryl says quietly.  
“I’ll write on the box what the drugs are for ok, but you’re going to have to make sure someone is in charge and keeps them safe. Some of this shit will kill you”  
You move the torch to a nearby shelf, take the last bandage, and move on to the creams and ointments. Daryl shifts a little then takes a deep breath.  
“You could come back with me you know.” He says a little awkwardly. You stop and look over your shoulder at him.  
“We got real houses where we are, clean water..nearly enough to eat.” He half smiles at you.  
“We look out for each other, there’s kids there. We could use a doctor.”  
“Houses?” You gape at him  
“You have houses and clean water and you were all out in the woods like a..like a pack of feral animals?”  
The smile slides from his face  
“We been looking for someone.”  
The dark expression on Daryl's face causes a sudden realisation to kick you in the gut. That explains that other guy’s extreme reaction. And why Daryl had been so keen to catch up with you when you had wandered into view this morning, wearing your ‘dead’ man’s distinctive leather jacket. The jacket they had expected to see on somebody else.  
The jacket you’re wearing right now.  
You feel your heart start thumping again and swallow.

“Did you find them?” You ask quietly, carefully.  
“No”

You take a deep breath and turn around, properly facing him with your back to the worktop. Underneath the mop of unkempt hair his face appeared hard and solemn. But the eyes searching yours are soft and deep, making you wonder what he had seen that made him so cautious. The darkness in the windowless treatment room is absolute and in the single beam from the weakening flashlight you feel like you’re looking at him properly for the first time. He’s actually a good looking guy and to your dismay you feel the first pull of attraction from somewhere inside. You find yourself seriously weighing up your options for a second before you shake yourself back to reality.

“No I couldn’t go with you. I need to get back to this guy and help him. I’m the reason he’s injured like he is. I have to put it right, it’s what I do.”  
You close your eyes and suddenly feel overwhelmingly tired.  
“It’s what I did”  
Daryl watches you for a few very long seconds then shakes open the bag again.  
“Well, I could go back with you,” He says eventually, a hint of a sigh in his voice.  
“Maybe help you with this guy and you can both come back. He a doctor too?”  
“No.” You say more sharply than you intended. You did not want Daryl in the same room as your dead man.  
“I mean, I don’t know”  
Daryl frowns at you but sounds amused  
“You don’t know..”he repeats back at you  
You open your eyes again and you have to stop and think to work out how many days have passed since you saw him last.  
“Tonight would be the third night since I..since I met him.”  
Daryl regards you closely, studying your face hard.  
“Don’t say no just yet Doc.” He says finally  
“You might change your mind.”  
“I might” you agree  
“But that crazy one of yours that pulled me to the floor isn’t going to welcome me with open arms”  
“Rick’s alright.” Daryl says with what appears to be the closest thing to affection you’ve seen from him.  
“He’s been through a lot”  
“Yeah..” you mutter and turn back to the shelf to continue filling Daryl’s bag.  
“Me too.”

~~~

You’re sitting with your back to the wall underneath a window with most of the glass in place. You're watching the fire that Daryl managed to get going in the corner of what might have been a canteen. Don’t think you need to worry about setting off the fire alarm.  
Daryl is also staring into the fire though he throws the occasional glance at you, as if he’s wanting to speak, but unsure of where to start. You look up at him as he catches your eye and you decide to speak first.

“This morning you were prepared to shoot me dead in the woods.”  
Daryl huffs a quiet laugh,  
“I wouldna shot you. Stabbed ya maybe..” You roll your eyes at him and smile  
“Actually,” He says with a grunt as he stretches over to his backpack  
“I have something you might need.” He rummages deep in one of the pockets and pulls out a dark rectangular block. He holds it out to you and as you lean over to take it from him, a little puzzled, your fingers brush his. That small tug of attraction turns into a surge and you feel a small amount of dread build as an internal battle fires up; part of you wants to go back with Daryl, but the rest needs you to go back to your dead man.  
You look down at what he’s given you and see that it’s a whetstone. You look up questioningly.  
“I got another one,” He gestures at the one in your hand  
“You need to work on that blade of yours, that thing couldn’t cut butter”  
You smile at the object in your hand, it’s the closest thing to a gift you’ve had in years and does nothing to quell the emotions swimming in your mind.  
“Thank you Daryl” You whisper.  
You have eaten a good meal of more cooked rabbit and dried fruit washed down with water that Daryl had willingly shared with you. He had said you’d kept your side of the bargain and provided him and his people with enough medical supplies to keep them going for a while. He was only keeping to his. 

“So how did you meet this injured guy of yours” He says clearing his throat and settling back against the wall next to you.  
“He’s not my guy” You say still staring at the whetstone.  
“I stabbed him in the leg.”  
“Oh” Daryl says and then snorts a short laugh  
“Why?”  
You look back up to the fire and wrap your arms around your knees hugging them to your chin.  
“We arrived at the same place at the same time, saw an unopened packet of chips on a shelf and had a..a disagreement about who should have it”  
Daryl is openly smiling at you now and scrubs his hand through his hair  
“So you stabbed him over a packet of potato chips”  
“Yes,” you say still holding onto the whetstone and hugging your knees tighter.  
“I stabbed him in the leg over a bag of chips.”  
Daryl’s smile fades a little, sensing that you’re troubled.  
“So why go to all the bother of helping him out. That’s kind of the way it is nowadays, you gotta hunt and scavenge. And stab people over chips.”  
“I know I could have left him. Just taken the chips and gone. But I could hear the dead ones..” You wave a hand at him searching for the word he used.  
“Walkers. I could hear there were walkers close by and so could he. Honestly he was pretty scared of being taken out like that.” 

You suppress a shiver as you recall the stranger who had been lying bleeding on the floor. Tall and powerfully built, you had both been surprised when he had been so easily felled by a not particularly hard stab to the thigh from your knife. But the blunt blade had made a mess of his leg, ripping through clothing and muscle and leaving a deep, gaping void. Initially swearing to find you and kill you, his cursing had turned to incredulous yelling as the barricaded but perished wooden doors groaned under the weight of several walkers growling and moaning, clawing against them.  
Blood was pouring from his leg, the scent driving the walkers into a snarling frenzy. He'd looked back up at you as you clutched your prized bag of chips. “Are you seriously going to leave those fuckers to finish the shitty fucking job you started?!”

“I was halfway out the door, with the chips, when I just turned round to get him. I’m a doctor Daryl, I’m supposed to help people,”  
Daryl is silent for a moment.  
“The world ain’t like that anymore Doc. This guy, he’d have killed you over a bag of chips”  
“I nearly killed him over a bag of chips.”  
“And you went back for him.” Daryl points out as he moves his backpack around to form a crude pillow. He shuffles away from you just far enough to stretch out his legs and lie next to the fire, one arm behind his head, the other on his crossbow. Always one hand on his bow.  
“Would he have gone back for you?”  
He lets the suggestion hang in the icy air as you continue staring into the flames.  
Probably not. But Daryl would.

The heat is making your eyes sting and the warmth is finally soaking into your bones. You feel your exhausted muscles being to relax as you mentally flip a coin and make a decision that would ultimately change everyone’s lives.

“You sleep first,” You say to him with a sigh  
You straighten your legs, push the whetstone into a side pocket on your bag and stand up slowly as Daryl watches. You move to the other side of the fire and position yourself so your back is warmed by the flames but you're facing out into the darkness of the old ransacked canteen. You hug your knees again and allow a long silence to build between you and the man on the other side of the snapping and crackling fire.

“Thanks Doc” Daryl says quietly, finally.  
You turn your head over your shoulder a fraction.  
“What for?” Your voice a little husky from being quiet for so long.  
“For keeping your side of the bargain,” he begins  
“But just tell your dead guy, the one that didn’t need his jacket any more? Tell him I’m gonna find him. And when I do, he’s gonna wish you’d left him to die.”  
You turn back to face the canteen and through the flames behind you, through the icy darkness, you swear you heard Daryl smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read up to this point a big thank you for sticking with it! This is turning into some wandering epic..


	4. Dead Men in Fishing Huts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is your travelling companion still alive?

When the faded and leaning wooden fishing shack had emerged from the trees you did not feel the rush of relief you’d been expecting. After walking for the rest of the night and well into the morning you’d had plenty of time to fight with yourself over your recent choices.  
Last night, after making sure that Daryl was properly asleep you had decided to leave quietly and permanently. You knew full well that if you had woken next to a warm male body and he’d asked you once more to go back with him, you’d have done it. As you’d gathered the last of your things you’d thought back to the way Daryl had questioned you in the woods about the previous owner of your leather jacket.   
And the last thing he’d said to you.   
For some insistent reason, you did not want Daryl and your ‘dead man’ meeting.  
“You’d better not be dead, asshole” You mutter to yourself as you head down the slope towards the lake and the tiny wooden hut. Thick weeds and twigs crunch and snap under your feet then give way to fine gravel and sand. You pause for a moment and look at the lake wondering if there might fish in there. The sun is high in the sky now, midday maybe? The sky is clear and sparkles dance on the water as a light breeze catches your hair. It’s starting to warm up a bit.  
You heave a deep sigh, adjust the bag on your shoulder and head up the sagging steps to the cabin door. The makeshift barricade you’d left on the door is still there, that could be a bad sign. You draw your knife and knock the hilt on the filthy glass waiting a few moments before you peer through the murk, looking for a tall dark haired walker.  
Everything stays quiet, you shove the door and wince as it complains loudly, groaning on rusty hinges.  
‘He must have heard that..’  
“Hey,” You call and look to your left to the camp bed under the window where you had left your dead man.   
The shape under the blanket suggested he was still there, unmoving. Still with your knife in your hand you wait and watch for a breath. A thought breaks free and runs in your mind that if he’s dead, you might still have time to head back and catch up with Daryl, there can’t be that many communities left any more.. 

The deadman’s chest rises the smallest amount, his ravaged body making the minimum amount of effort to stay alive.   
You exhale a slightly irritated breath and roughly shove your knife back in its sheath. Putting Daryl and the thought of a real bed firmly out of your mind you pull the strap of the holdall over your head and let it thump to the floor. Taking your backpack off, your spine straightens in relief as you move over to the low and creaking fold out bed, opening the main pocket as you go.   
For the first time you take a real look at the man you almost killed. His hair is almost black and on the longer side like it had been used to frequent cuts not long ago. Now it was stuck to his face as a sheen of fever induced sweat covered his body. He’s deeply unconscious and incredibly pale with deep dark rings under his eyes. A light greying beard has covered his jaw and neck and while he is powerfully built he is too thin for his frame. He’s wearing a tee shirt that might have been white once exposing tattoos on his forearms and the suggestion of more peeking out from under the sleeves.   
Sinking to your knees you place the back pack next to the bed, then smooth his hair away from his eyes. You tilt your head and suppose he could be quite striking to look at once he was cleaned up. You push the blanket back, exposing his injured leg. A crude bandage you had made from his red scarf was still there and had festered. You pull his leather jacket from your own shoulders, push your shirt sleeves up and get to work.

***

You’re not sure how long you have been busy, but the light through the filthy windows is giving way to a golden glow. A few hours maybe.  
You straighten up and step backwards, removing your gloves and take in your handywork.   
The guy is on his second IV drip, with antibiotics and precious fluid coursing through his veins. He was so dehydrated it had taken you a while to find a vein to use. You had also cleaned up and dressed his leg, holding off on the stitches until the infection was clear. You’d even washed the sweat from his face.  
You pull your back pack towards you, keeping your eyes on the face of the stranger and your hand inside searches for the whetstone Daryl gave to you. Pulling your useless knife from its sheath, you lean back against the wall. Tired, but pleased with your efforts, the stranger was already beginning to look better. His breathing was more even and a little colour had returned to his face. If you could get his temperature under control he might make it.   
“You better be grateful, whoever you are.” You say quietly  
“You’ll know what I turned down for you..” You lower yourself slowly to the floor against the wall at the foot of the camp bed, facing your dead man.  
“I’ll make sure you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a REALLY long time since I posted a chapter - sorry life gets in the way sometimes. It's short, but its here, hopefully I can write a bit more regularly now.


End file.
